The Museum of Desire

Chapter 10

The trip down the stairs was the Andrea Bauer — led race in reverse. Once outside, she shot Milo something vaguely smile-like, crossed Butler Avenue, and jogged into the staff lot.

Milo said, “She knows people. Nothing like a threat to brighten my day.”

I said, “Her main reason for coming here was self-protection.”

“Alvarez disappears Friday, it’s already Tuesday and I’m supposed to shield her from bad P.R.? The brass has stifled to the max because the mayor’s official line is The Westside Is Safe but a story breaks tomorrow in the Times.”

“Could work in your favor,” I said.

“Tips? With all the loonies, a double-edged sword but let’s see. Meanwhile the kids are still canvassing, I extended it two miles in both directions.”

Andrea Bauer’s Panamera exited the lot and sped off.

He said, “It could work in my favor — lemons to lemonade, huh? You ever sink into a sump of bitter, soul-leeching pessimism?”

Not since I made my way from Missouri to L.A. at sixteen and could stop hiding from a drunken, raging father.

I said, “I try to avoid it.”

We returned to his office.

I said, “Lulling the victim’s the key to predation so Benny Alvarez’s sense of focus might’ve worked against him. Overly fixed on his goal and not paying enough attention to his surroundings. The same might apply to the woman, if she was a heavy drinker and chronically impaired. Gurnsey, too, for that matter. Too intent on sex to evaluate risk.”

“Caught up in a honey trap.”

“Who better than a hungry bear?”

He rolled a pencil between his fingers. “What about Roget?”

“My bet would be collateral damage,” I said. “Wrong limo, wrong time. Or maybe the car was a factor: Someone wanted a flashy stage. But he could also be seen as taking undue risks: older man driving strangers, keeping no record of his fares.”

“Use him for his wheels, then do him and display him with the others,” he said. “Because why waste a corpse? We’re talking Hitler-level cruelty, Alex.”

“Cruelty and power lust. Literally manipulating human beings.”

His fingers drummed a paradiddle on his desktop. “All that said, let’s dot some i’s and see what the computer says about Dr. Andy’s business practices.”

Several interviews with Andrea Bauer in glossy throwaway magazines repeated the gist of what she’d just told us. Precisely the goal of interviews in glossy throwaways.

She owned nine facilities: three in California, four in Arizona, two in Idaho. No serious complaints had been lodged against any of them. No mechanics’ liens for unpaid bills, bankruptcy filings, or other evidence of financial weakness.

The extent of Bauer’s involvement in the legal system was three civil suits in just as many years, two in San Diego County and one in Tempe. What appeared to be routine slip-and-falls, everything settled by her insurers. Online ratings skewed toward positive but that was meaningless; praise can be purchased and, in general, the internet’s a compulsive liar’s dream. But the lack of criticism was noteworthy and it made Milo’s shoulders droop.

“Sued three times,” he said. “Considering how many lawyers are lurking around that’s just about saintly. Too bad.”

He swiveled away from the screen. “Time to move on. Agreed?”

I nodded.

“Now tell me — scratch that, therapeutically suggest to me where exactly we relocate.”

As I thought about that, he checked his email and deleted anything administrative.

I said, “The killer knew the property would be accessible. How about a closer look at the party hosts?”

“Rental agency finally coughed up the names,” he said. “Coupla rich kids, seniors at Beverly Hills High. Meaning the partyers were probably kids, too. You see a teenager setting something like this up?”

“There was a sixteen-year-old in Florida, murdered his parents before throwing a house party.”

He pulled up the Beverly Hills High School website. “The academic day ends just before four. Let’s try to catch them as they wheel their little roadsters off campus. Anything else, meanwhile?”

“You get the cause of death for Gurnsey and the woman?”

“Crypt’s been giving me radio silence, not even a text from Basia, which isn’t like her. I’d take the time to drive over but with the big decomp case I’m not gonna be a welcome presence. Not to mention my nasal passages being ruined for a month.”

“Why’s the decomp high-priority?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, it’s not even a murder,” he said. “Three floaters bob up in Wilmington Harbor a week after a fancy fishing boat goes down five miles out. Big Coast Guard search, nothing until what’s left of two anglers and a hired captain make an appearance. Lots of shark and crab damage but from what I’ve heard so far, not even a hint of human transgression. What the hell, I’ll try Basia again.”

He punched a preset on his cell. Sat up straighter when Dr. Basia Lopatinski, formerly of Warsaw, Poland, said, “I was just about to call you.”

Basia had offered crucial info on his last case, a murder at a wedding, and was his new favorite at the crypt. Petite, blond, graced with a mile-wide smile and natural ebullience, she sounded weary.

Milo said, “Tell me you’re assigned to the limo case and my faith will be restored. Tell me you’ve already got scientific factoids and I might even go to midnight Mass.”

She laughed. “Another lapsed Catholic? You are so kind. I have been assigned one of your victims, the woman. It’s rather frantic here so we’re splitting up the splitting up.”

“What’s the big deal with the boat, Basia?”

A beat. “Keep this to yourself, okay? The owner of the charter is a friend of the governor and there could be serious liability issues.”

“Sealed lips, kid. How much longer before things settle down?”

“I hope a few days — we’re talking extreme putrescence, Milo. Shreds and globs. We know who these people are but actual scientific identification is necessary for insurance purposes and it’s a nightmare. We’ve stopped answering the phone because attorneys are calling so frequently. On top of that, even with a gas mask the smell is unbelievable. Okay, on to more pleasant things: I completed the autopsy on your female victim but put that aside for now, something very interesting came up before I began cutting. The copious blood ranging from her knees to the floor of the car isn’t human. It’s canine. And turns out the same applies to all four victims.”

“Dog blood?”

“Theoretically, at this point, it could be any type of canid — coyote, wolf, hybrid of either. But domestic dog would obviously be the most probable.”

“Jesus,” he said. “Any human blood mixed in with it?”

“That I’m not able to answer yet. I requested that the crime lab keep the limousine in their auto bay and exhaustively sample seats and carpeting. We’ll be doing the same for clothing. That’s a lot of analysis, a definitive answer will take days.”

“How’d you discover it?”

“No precipitin had been done at the scene, which isn’t breach of procedure, with a multiple the obvious assumption is going to be human blood, why wouldn’t it be? But the pattern was off. Too much contrast between the relatively sparse amounts of low-caliber gunshot blood near Mr. Alvarez’s and Mr. Roget’s wounds and the volume below. Making it even odder, the woman had no obvious wounds at all but was still drenched in blood at the lower extremities and the same went for Mr. Gurnsey. I ran an ABO to see if we had admixtures among the victims and it came back no ABO, just DEA — that’s a canine grouping. I was shocked so I repeated and got the same result. Followed up with a precipitin, again not human. I then took a look under the microscope and sure enough, there were a few scattered nucleated erythrocytes. That can happen in canids but not humans, our red blood cells never have nuclei. I went to my colleagues and they tested their victims. Same results. Everyone’s astonished.”

“Someone murdered four people then threw pooch blood on them.”

“I wouldn’t describe it as a lusty throw, Milo. That would have created more spatter. This appears to be more of a careful pouring. By the amount of blood, perhaps from a sizable receptacle.”

“Bucket of blood.”

“The phrase did come to mind,” she said. “As to what it means, perhaps you’ve got something psychopathological that Alex could help you with.”

“Alex is right here.”

Basia said, “Oh. Hello. Anything come to mind?”

I said, “First for me, too, Basia.”

“This is a strange one, guys. Including variety in cause of death. The driver and Mr. Alvarez were shot by the same.22 but turns out Mr. Gurnsey was stabbed three times in the upper torso with a thin, double-edged bladed instrument. It wasn’t spotted until we disrobed him because there were no defects in his clothing. So he was cut either while wearing something else or while naked. Either way, he was re-dressed postmortem.”

I said, “Costumed.”

“Hmm... interesting thought, yes, there is a theatrical quality to it, the ostentatious car, the sexual posing.”

Milo said, “What killed the woman?”

“That remains undetermined though I’m leaning toward asphyxiation. I’ll be doing more tissue dissection and microscope work but so far all I’ve found are a few ocular hemorrhages. That’s suggestive but not definitive, a small quantity of burst blood vessels can be caused by all sorts of things, including lifestyle issues. And this body gives up plenty of evidence of that: congested lungs, boggy hypertrophied heart. Both are present with asphyxia but also in chronic drug use and alcoholism. She certainly presents as a likely longtime abuser: that outdoor skin you see on the homeless, liver almost completely cirrhotic, gallbladder dangerously enlarged, both kidneys are disasters. There are also changes that could be compounded by age and/or substance abuse: vascular deterioration of the brain, her thyroid gland isn’t much to speak of, and her esophagus displays several highly erosive splotches, probably cancerous.”

Milo said, “Not a paragon of health.”

“An orthodox conclusion would be she didn’t have long to live,” said Basia. “But who knows? I’ve seen people with brains like Swiss cheese and hearts enlarged to the size of a bull’s who survive far beyond expectation.”

I said, “Would her brain damage affect her consciousness and make her easy prey?”

“Her being intoxicated obviously would and I suppose if she had chronic brain damage that wouldn’t help. If nothing shows up on the tox, Dr. Krishnamurti agrees asphyxia will be the ruling by process of elimination. One more thing: We haven’t been able to identify her because her fingerprint ridges are abraded and shallow. You see that with various skin diseases but some people just don’t have good ridges, especially as they age. On top of that several of her fingertips are scarred — old wounds, most likely burns. The computerized system failed so I inked her by hand and that produced a bit more definition. But not enough for AFIS. I’ll try moisturizing and if that doesn’t bring up the ridges, we can slice off the skin, plump it up with saline, make a glove, and see if that works.”

“Thanks for everything, Basia. Any idea how long the bodies sat in the car?”

“I was told no blowflies were spotted outside because the car was a closed environment. Still, if the car had been sitting in sunlight for a prolonged period, even with temperate spring weather, I’d expect more tissue deterioration. So probably no sooner than Saturday night.”

Milo said, “Makes sense, it’s a conspicuous vehicle, why risk being seen during the day? What about time of death?”

“That’s a bit trickier,” she said. “Rigor had come and gone and I didn’t find any evidence of freezing or refrigeration. But again, the lack of decomp suggests the victims were killed and stored in a well-insulated space before being transferred to the limousine. A naturally cool environment — a cellar, say — or strong air-conditioning could’ve been enough. Also, moving bodies can disrupt rigor. The most I can tell you is twelve to thirty-six hours prior to discovery. But if we’re assuming the bodies sat there for around twelve hours and we factor in time to clean them up, dress them, put them in the car, we need to tack on additional time. The big problem is drive-time. We have no idea where they came from.”

“No freezing. So not long-term storage.”

“Most probably not.”

I said, “Basia, could we go back to the causes of death for a sec? Like you said, four victims and three separate methods is unusual for a mass murder. So maybe we should be thinking about this as individual killings grouped together, methods tailored to each victim.”

“Tailored how?”

“Smothering someone’s harder than shooting them. The woman’s compromised health might’ve made her more suitable than the men.”

“Hmm. It’s a thought, Alex. She was carrying plenty of weight — one hundred eighty-one pounds on five foot four. But the muscles of all four limbs were extremely atrophied, meaning a good deal of her bulk was nonfunctional fat. So, yes, she could have been overpowered fairly easily. What about knife rather than gun for the fittest victim, Gurnsey?”

I said, “A more personal death. The way he was posed fits that.”

“I’ll say. Personal and demeaning. But the woman was demeaned as well.”

I said, “She could’ve been a player in his scene.”

“Hmm... you could be right. They certainly don’t present as a likely couple.”

Milo said, “Any defensive wounds on Gurnsey?”

“As I said, I’m not doing him but I don’t believe there were.”

“A sneaky knife attack also fits up close and personal, Basia. One thing we’ve learned about Gurnsey is he lived for sex. Guy like that, gets in a compromising position, lowers his guard, the killer slips in the blade.”

“Cuddle turns to cutting,” said Basia. “Okay, gentlemen, time to sift through more marine sludge but I promise not to forget you. When I finally get home tonight, I will drink Tokaji and search the literature for cases where animal blood was used as a supplement to a human homicide. There’s a ritualistic feel to it, no?”

Milo said, “Satanic ghouls prowling the Westside? God forbid, Basia.”

“My, you are getting religious.”

“Parochial school memories never die.”

“How true,” she said. “Sometimes I still dream of nuns. And I won’t tell you the content of those dreams. Good luck, gentlemen.”

Milo said, “One more thing, Basia. Can we get quick DNA on the dog blood, at least find out the breed? I get hold of a suspect, he’s got a black Lab, whatever, it’s another brick in the wall.”

“We’re not talking a live animal, Milo. The amount of blood, survival would be out of the question. But sure, once I have multiple samples I’ll send them out. Now back to my gas mask.”

Milo said, “Too bad the governor wants to be president.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Not the people I want to hang out with.”

She laughed. “Yes, that would be a grim soiree.”

He put the phone down and faced me. “Like you always say, kiddie psychopaths practice on animals. Maybe this one never stopped.”

I said, “This feels different from a practice run. All performance, no rehearsal.”

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Doing that to a pooch. Why does that make me even madder?”